Bruder, Come Home
by OnnaMurcielago666
Summary: "SHE IS ONLY A CHILD!" Germany bellowed. "HOW COULD YOU SEND THAT MONSTER AFTER MY CHILD? MEIN SCHATZ! MEIN BERLIN!" France and Britain averted their eyes when Germany's rage crumbled into tears. England glanced at France, his own horror carved into the Frenchman's eyes, and prayed for Berlin in a suddenly. What had they done? (Berlin OC, rated M for violence, no yaoi)
1. May 8th - Berlin

Chapter One

May 8th – Berlin

Americans at the Elbe, Europeans to the west, and the ever-pressing threat of the Soviets to the east, marching into Germany's capital; May 8th was a dark day in Berlin. Hitler was long cold and dead somewhere, but Berlin didn't give a shit about the puny little man that had run her beautiful city red with the blood of her Jewish citizens and those of the other nations. She was cold, as the coal supply was dwindling without workers to mine it, and she could hardly see because the Allies had cut off her electricity to help their forces into her home. At that very moment, her people –those sweet Berliners- were still fighting for that demon they'd believed would help heal the country, and the nation was locked away with the rotting corpse.

Berlin hadn't seen her Ludwig in weeks, ever since the Allies had set foot on German soil, and she whimpered quietly to herself, hiding in the ruins of a once-fine building. Bombs had reduced it to a half-standing pile of rubble, and now she was all alone.

Already on April 16th, those damn Soviets had started to flood into Berlin's laid-stone streets and tighten their stranglehold on her city one street at a time. She had run for hours the first time, and now she was hiding from another troop that held the nation himself within it.

Ivan was in her city, and he wouldn't stop until he found her. He had an iron grip over his city –he'd had it for almost six days now- and Berlin felt the cold breath on the back of her neck wherever she went. Berlin shivered again, this time for the damp cold in her limbs, and suddenly she felt the blossoming ache of a bombing spread across her hip. The vibration reached her slowly, after the pain, and Berlin yelped as another struck, close to the first; her people were dying.

Clutching a little hand to her heart, Berlin pressed a hand to the delicate Iron Cross hanging from around her neck and thought deeply of her Ludwig and Gilbert. They had always been good to her, even when the First World War had shaken the country to its core and they all knew that they were struggling.

'_Ludwig, Gilbert, be safe,_' Berlin thought, sniffling, and she carefully peeked outside her makeshift shelter. She couldn't see any soldiers, Soviet or otherwise, and cautiously she poked her dirty head out of the hovel to survey her street. It was darker now that night had fallen, colder too, but she knew that if she stayed too long in one place the Icy Devil would descend upon her and she would never see her Ludwig again. Berlin scrambled up out of the hole, kicking her legs in midair, and she shrieked shortly as she tumbled head over heels down to the sidewalk with a small 'thunk'.

Immediately, Berlin sat up like a ramrod, listening for any running feet, and she took off toward the North; if she had the choice, she'd rather be caught by an American than a Soviet. Hitler could hang himself if he didn't like it. Her little feet pattered and stumbled over chunks of rock and glass, cutting or bruising the tender skin without piercing her focus. She needed to evade as many soldiers as she could before she started to fight, because the pistol her Ludwig had given her would only last for six men. She was prepared to go down fighting and die trying to reach him, but still her hands shook as she stopped in a shadow for breath.

'_I need to get to Ludwig,_' She told herself seriously, her eyes scanning the wreckage for people. Even a civilian would be detrimental at this point, because they would make a scene and fawn over her, and God knows what else while those damn Soviets followed the noise. Berlin took another deep breath, exhaling slowly through her nose, before she darted out across the street and hid behind some rocks as a Soviet tank rumbled in the distance. '_before the Allies catch me. He'll know what to do._' She darted out again, holding her breath, and made it to the next alleyway.

A jumble of Russian erupted behind her, accompanied by the rhythmic tramping of deadly boots and jingling of murderous machines. Berlin didn't have to look back to know that Soviet soldiers following the tank had spotted her striking mop of brilliant blonde hair and recognised her. She cursed mentally that she hadn't put enough dirt in it and forced her legs to move quicker over the uneven terrain. The older, more mature humans had a chance of catching up with her, considering she was a child and tired, but she drew a will to survive from the depths of her heart. '_They are waiting._' She thought, pounding over the obstacles as she began to gain a lead on the Soviets, and she glanced back just once. The military men were slowing, her arms pumping with effort, and she saw the gun level with her in horror; Berlin dove left to avoid a bullet.

Chips of rock flew up, pricking her face and exposed skin as she gasped and coughed as fear closed her throat. That could have hit her had she not looked. Berlin kept running now, her mind aflutter with the possibility that their leader had settled for getting a hold of her dead instead of alive. Ivan would do that, the crazy bastard, and Berlin didn't doubt that he had; she dodged another bullet by a hair's breadth.

As Berlin's run took her out of the alley, a hail of gunfire peppered the cement at her feet and she scrambled back from it in alarm, screaming. She was suddenly deaf to her own voice, eyes glued to the sparking bullets as they embedded themselves in the road before her, narrowly missing her toes, and Berlin swooned as she stumbled backwards. Voices bombarded her, none a language she knew and Berlin quaked as her shaking hands pressed themselves close to her equally trembling body. Russian was a prominent language in the crowd, as was English, but Berlin couldn't tell who would be worse to surrender to.

Churchill may have been fooled by Hitler, but he was a better option than the communist reigning from his perch upon Ivan's bloody throne.

"A-America!" Berlin cried, careful to use the Tongue of Nations around all the human soldiers. "AMERICA!" Berlin yelped as a soldier jabbed her with the butt of his gun and barked something foreign to her. She blinked, looking at him in a daze as if she were seeing him for the first time, and the darkness and floodlights cast demonic shadows across his pale face. She tried a new tactic: "Am-err-i-ca." She grated out with difficulty. "Alfa... re-red... J... Joe...J- Joeness?" English wasn't her best language, she knew, but she also knew that she could form a coherent English sentence and get her point across. "Alfa-redd Joeness?" She blinked rapidly, fluttering her lashes desperately, and hoped that her delicate looks might get her to the democratic nation's protection.

"Comrade America is not here yet, darling," Berlin froze entirely as another nation spoke, sending liquid ice through her veins. Her skin prickled as her body voiced it's say of the danger looming near her, and Berlin found herself suddenly drowning in midair. Ivan's face leaned into her shrinking circle of vision and, with a cheery smile, the Russian waved. "but don't worry. We'll have lots of fun." Berlin gasped at the statement, crying out, and she fainted with Ludwig's name rolling off her lips like a prayer.

'_Es tut mir leid, Ludwig... __I failed._'

**~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~**

**Es tut mir leid = (German) I'm sorry**


	2. Surrender – Germany

Chapter Two

Surrender – Germany

"Look, Ludwig," Britain sneered, circling the chained nation with his pistol dancing to and from armed. "it's nothing personal. Just tell us where the stupid sod is, and we can get on with the terms of surrender. Make it easy on yourself,"

"_Et votre petit_." France added taking a deep, soulful drag from the cigarette hanging from his lips. He was lounging in the other chair, leaning it back on two legs, and he smirked slightly when Germany jerked against the chains viciously, the tendons in his neck straining. "Think of Berlin, _mon cher_. La Russie is out looking for her as we speak, and if you tell us, we can call him off. Have her brought here _par une gentille dame. Comprendre_?" Britain cocked the hammer on his gun, antsy to begin wringing information out of his fellow nation, and France's blue eyes clashed with his.

Wait, they told him firmly, and watch him crack. Both nations turned their eyes back to the Aryan nation with curiosity, watching his chin drop to his chest as all fight went out of the man.

"_Nein_, you wouldn't send that bastard after a little girl." Germany growled, looking France in the eye with ferocious killing intent. "I don't believe you." Britain had no qualms with bringing his foot up and taking a swing at Germany's face, grunting as his heel snapped the man's head back with shocking force. Blood came suddenly from the blond prisoner's mouth, flowing down over his chin, and he bared bloody teeth at the former pirate.

"Look, you stupid sod!" Britain snapped, pressing the mouth of his pistol to Germany's forehead. "Where in God's name is that crazy bugger!? Tell me, 'afore I blow your bloody brains out!" He'd had enough of this madness; he had lost many good British men in this war, and his beloved colony had suffered immensely to repel the Germans from North America and the weaker countries- Germany would be fixed today. "Five!" He wouldn't go back to the Isles without this nation's head to show to the widows he'd made there. "Four!" He wouldn't lie awake tonight without a reason for all the gore. "Three!" He wouldn't- Static filled the radio lying on the plain table in the corner and France sighed lazily.

"Oh,_ pour le Dieu_..." France said as he extinguished the cigarette on the wall and leaned forward to grab it. "_C'est la Russie_." He cleared his throat. "_Oui_?" Gunfire and a child's high scream poured out of the low-quality speaker, making Germany jump, and England smirked at the fear he saw deep in those icy blue eyes. Looks like he could put the gun away. It stopped suddenly and heavy breathing filtered in:

"_Lyudvig_," Russia said softly, giggling. "shall I fetch your little girl?" The Allies present looked from the walkie-talkie to Germany and France winced at the terror etched into Germany's skin. The blond man had suffered much invasion and murder at the hands of the Nazi, but seeing Germany's expression brought him back to the battle that had cost him his sweet little Canada. He felt a small portion of sympathy for Germany, as a father himself, and regretted sending Russia.

"_Nein_..." Germany rasped hoarsely, shaking. "_Nein_! Leave her alone, you bastard!" Germany obviously didn't care that Russia couldn't hear him because he began screaming and raging about what would happen to the Russian nation if he laid even one finger on Berlin. Germany's fighting spirit revived like a phoenix from the fire, filling his eyes with blazing, glorious light. "Berlin, _schatz_! I'm coming!"

Static came again, followed by a voice. "A-America!" Berlin cried, using the nations' special language to avoid tipping off the humans obviously holding her. "AMERICA!" The sound of her voice made Germany freeze, tears welling up in his eyes, and he jerked as if he had been struck when Berlin gave a pained yelp from the other end of the walkie-talkie.

France averted his eyes from Germany, letting England watch by himself, and quickly tried to focus all his attention on his dwindling cigarette. He was a father, after all, and the cries of a defenceless child were breaking his war-hardened heart.

"Am-err-i-ca." Berlin's voice came again, coated by Russia's giggling in the background. "Alfa... re-red... J... Joe...J- Joeness?" Germany stiffened as a painful pride swelled in his chest at her maneuver. Should she get to an American, she could avoid Russia altogether and escape undamaged. He had taught her that. "Alfa-redd Joeness?"

"How cute, _da_?" Russia said softly, giggling. "She is afraid... Comrade America is not here yet, darling," Russia was speaking to Berlin now, hiding his words from the human soldiers, and Germany yelled out in protest, writhing against his restraints until he rubbed some skin raw against the chains and leather. "but don't worry. We'll have lots of fun." England looked a little ill now, looking from the walkie-talkie to Germany with growing unease.

After all, Berlin was just a child –a girl at that- and Russia had never been famous for his gentleness or kindness; that's why they had sent him. England's mind suddenly replaced Berlin with America and he couldn't restrain his own small yelp. He glanced at France, seeing the same horror scrawled in the Frenchman's expression, and he prayed for Berlin in a sudden change of heart.

What had they done?

The radio turned off on Russia's end, unable to stop the cry of 'LUDWIG!' from crossing the radio waves, and Germany's lip quivered, the blood drying. England was the first to speak:

"We-Well... that's what happens, chap." He said softly, the malice gone as his own heart ached for the little girl. "All's fair in-"

"SHE IS ONLY A CHILD!" Germany bellowed, taking both of the Allies off guard. His eyes burned angrily, beyond description, and Britain felt his mouth go dry as the fury rolled of Germany in waves. "HOW COULD YOU SEND THAT MONSTER AFTER MY CHILD!? _MEIN SCHATZ_! _MEIN BERLIN_! _MAREIKE_!" Germany's whole body quivered and threw itself against the restraints holding him to the chair, and the chair toppled with a clatter. Germany grunted as he hit the floor, not hesitating, and he thrashed viciously, spewing German curses that crawled across France and Britain's skin like caterpillars and bit at their hearts. The three men sat in that room silently, no longer speaking, and the Allies averted their eyes when Germany's rage crumbled into tears.

**~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~**

**Et votre petit = (French) And your little one**

**Mon cher = (French) my dear**

**La Russie = (French) Russia**

**...par une gentille dame = (French) ...by a kind woman**

**Comprendre = (French) Understand**

**Nein = (German) No**

**pour le Dieu = (French) for God's sake**

**C'est la Russie = (French) It's Russia**

**Oui = (French) Yes**

**Lyudvig = (Russian) Ludwig**

**schatz = (German) treasure/sweetheart**

**Mein schatz = (German) My treasure/My sweetheart**


	3. Aftermath - America

Chapter Three

Aftermath – America

Germany was finally under Allied control.

After six years of fighting, the Nazi soldiers that had conquered most of the land in Europe were in shambles –their leader eliminated- and Germany was in their custody. He, as well as France and Britain, were in Reims signing the terms of surrender with the leaders of their countries. America had been there himself not long before being caught by the Elbe, and now he and his squad were marching into the Soviet-held Berlin.

'_Quiet,_' Recognizing the refrain from the usual war-noise as the fear of more death, America sniffled and covered his grimace. Berlin smelled of dark things –blood, rot, gun powder- and sewage splashed his uniform as they marched through the deserted streets. '_It's too quiet._' America thought tensely as he listened to the echo of their march. '_Like a giant tomb._'

"_OTKUDA VY_!" All The soldiers jumped, guns drawing quickly, and America's lips curled: Russians. Even the years of allying with the Eastern European man in the scarf had done little to dull the sting of rivalry burning like the home fire in America's heart. All that their alliance had shown him was that Russia was capable of great things: great, unspeakable things.

"Colonel!" He hissed, "Where's the translator?" America stared at the little book he received in response with confusion, frowning. "Huh?"

"You're it, kid," Grunted the human, a veteran from the First World War. "now go at it." He shoved the nation forward, grimacing, and the Russian soldier called out again angrily. Why did he get the sucky job? He was the hero, not the bookworm! He examined the book:

"Uh..." America flipped anxiously to the page for 'We're American, dudes!' and found nothing so simple. Well, shit- they were screwed. "Dudes, this is whack! We're on the same side! Anti-Nazis for the win, yo!"

"Nazi?" Repeated the Russian cautiously.

"Yeah-yeah, man!" America grinned, waving and gesturing wildly to him and his comrades. "We're Anti-Nazi!"

"_Zamorazhivat'_!" A chance of bullets peppered the round just a few feet from America, spewing flakes of mangled concrete and jolting the blond man back into formation. "_Ili my strelyat' v vas mertvoy!_"

"The hell did you do, Jones?!" Demanded the colonel, grabbing America by the collar and shaking him angrily. In the back of America's motor-mind, he found similarity to how Germany treated Italy and broke into his infamously heroic and devilishly handsome lopsided grin.

"I just told them who we are!" America protested, spotting more Russians coming down out of the rubble buildings. "Ya know, 'Anti-Nazi' and all that shit!"

"I should shoot you, you idiot!" Snapped the colonel, tightening his grip. "Why did you say 'Nazi'?! No wonder he shot at us!"

"_ZAMORAZHIVAT'_!" A gun separated them and America stopped the colonel from drawing his. This was no time of wayward bullets; the hero needed to pull a cool one, like, ASAP. America squared his shoulders and stood up out of his usual casual slouch:

"Don't!" He ordered sharply, batting the man's hand away. He raised his voice: "STAND DOWN, MEN!" He felt the old veteran glare and he casually took out his glasses from his shirt pocket and put them on. "BY ORDER OF THE PRESIDENT!" He knew that a few of the other soldiers recognised him because he heard their guns drop, and he even took the colonel's pistol with a scowl. "I didn't want to do this, man, but I've gotta do the totally superhero thing!" Quickly, America turned to face the Russian soldier's and he cleared his throat with a smile: "Ivan? Ivan Braginski?" He held a hand above his head. "Real tall." He mimed his throat. "Scarf?" Then he said 'kolkolkol' as best he could imitate.

"Braginski?" Repeated the soldier suspiciously, lowering his gun. "_**Marshal**__ Braginski_?"

America could understand that much. "Yeah!" He cried, nodding furiously. "Where's my homie at, bra?"

"Ah, Comrade America," Russia's voice swept across the destroyed plaza as he appeared atop a building with a chilling smile on his face. "it is being good to see you in one piece." He was quick for such a large man, and he was very soon standing amongst them and calling off the antsy soldiers obviously under his command. "How was the holiday at the Elbe, comrade? We were sure that the hero would have been here for the conquest."

America laughed, grimacing angrily at the jibe from behind the cheerful sound. "You haven't changed one damn bit, have you, my commie dog? Still 'doing the fighting'?"

"Always," Russia nodded, "feel free to become one with Russia, comrade. The Bloc can always use one more." He held out a hand, offering, and America tensed visibly.

'_Ah, hell nah._'"Imma pass, bro, maybe next time." America waved a hand at the one outstretched, trying not to let his smile crack under the Russian man's gaze. The lavender eyes strayed across him, leaving trails of totally-not-heroic goose bumps under his totally-wicked uniform. Finally, the eyes landed on his shielding hand and narrowed ever so slightly at the refusal; whoa, America had never noticed how sketchy Russia's eyes could be when he was in commie-mode.

"J-Jones!" Apparently, the veteran with the war experience wasn't done yet: his hand came down on the nation's shoulder and spun America around in a panic. His face came close -cigars, whiskey and trench breath wafted across America's desensitized nostrils and had no effect- and America saw confusion scrawled into his eyes. "What the hell is going on here? I thought you were a goddamn American, man! Just who in the President's name are you?"

"We are superior to you, little man." Ivan snarled, his smile never failing even for a moment. The colonel stiffened, taken off-guard, and Alfred offered him a consoling smile. All at once, the nations' smiles dropped from both faces as a spray of bullets a few roads down sent their feeble opponents screaming back to their maker above: Alfred scrutinized Ivan furiously.

"You said the city was under Allied control." Alfred knew that Ivan was a liar, but this was war! Honesty was-

"We have Berlin, America, and I have crushed any resistance in her. ' The city'," Ivan's smile grew smug. "and all its little people will fall… Berlin is mine." Alfred's scowl deepened and he corrected the Russian man tersely, bunching his hands into fists.

'_Ivan is no ally!_' His instincts screamed, raging against his restraints as it pointed out his lying, scheming commie grin that clearly told all democracy to go sodomize itself publically.

"Ours." He grunted, eying Ivan's surprise with displeasure. "Now Berlin is the prisoner of the Allies," Alfred' eyes flashed as Ivan's crinkled with amusement in the corners; a challenge- 'wipe-this-smirk-off-my-face-and-prove-it,-comrade ' it said, 'make-me-say-it,-you-capitalist-pig'. Alfred was sorely tempted to wind his good arm back, crank his knuckles through Ivan' straight teeth and laugh. But then his cover as a human soldier would be blown when Ivan flew through the air like a discarded toy and the whole squadron would be carted into the depths of Area 51 after their tour ended. "and we're allies, man. Aren't we?" Alfred couldn't do that to them.

"_Da_, little comrade, whatever you say." When Ivan's smile returned to normal, losing its frightening edge, Alfred remembered the fatigue of his fellow non-nation soldiers.

"Then, requesting permission to share camp." Alfred said, returning to his native tongue –English… American-style- and he held out a hand to be shaken. "It's been a long march and we could use a good home-fire to rest with, ya know."

"Jones-""_Da_, come with us." Ivan said, his English heavily accented but understandable, and Alfred saw several Americans jump when he spoke their language. "My men have many extra supplies sent by _moy lidera_ for our triumph over Berlin. We will share with our weary comrades and talk of war things in the morning, _da_?" Ivan clapped a heavy hand on Alfred's shoulder, setting him on edge. "Tonight is being the night for the celebrating."

The Russian camp was settled into the city center, several USSR flags flying overboard as true testaments to their glory. As a nation, it was the utmost shame to have another nation flying their flag within your land. Alfred couldn't restrain his grin as he helped hoist the red-white-'n'-blue and set up tens in the vulnerable square. Even with every possible angle for an ambush, the camp was too feared to be attacked.

Ivan had spoken a truth; Berlin was theirs.

**~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~**

**Otkuda vy = (Russian) Where are you from?**

**Zamorazhivat' = (Russian) Freeze!**

**Ili my strelyat' v vas mertvoy = (Russian) Or we shoot you dead**

**Marshal = (Russian) the highest military rank back then**


	4. The State of Affairs and Prices Paid

Chapter Four

The State of Affairs and Prices Paid

"Breakfast, Ludwig," Francis carefully rested the tray on the table, eying the motionless man sitting in the corner. His usually immaculate blond hair stuck up at awkward angles where he'd constantly fisted his hands, and grooves had formed in the weakening gel where his fingers had raked through it. His pale skin was sickly and pallid with worry, making the blue of his eyes unnaturally bright in his corpse-like face.

The Allies had moved him from the windowless cell since his surrender but, with no word from Alfred or Ivan since Berlin's capture, everyone was on edge.

Outside, disease and chaos ran rampant in the absence of aid. No water, no firemen or police, and the bodies dropped in the final battle were a smorgasbord for plague and vermin. Bombs still exploded –due to either misplacement or an unlucky strolling person- killing soldier and civilian alike; people's tears were only overshadowed by the schemes of the Allies' politicians.

Berlin was chaotic; Berlin was bloody, broken- Berlin was missing.

"_Nein_," He responded dully, the fists beside his knees tightening enough to whiten his knuckles to an extreme, and Francis sighed sadly,

"_Mon cher_, you must eat."

"_Nein_." Ludwig turned away from the light as Francis whisked open the deep cerulean curtains and gave a pained moan. "Go away."

"Ludwig, _cher_, she will be fine…" Francis said, trying to seem certain. "_Elle est trés fort_; be proud!" He approached Ludwig carefully, bringing the baguette with him, and knelt down beside the German. "Eat, Ludwig." Francis prompted, "Your trial is days away, _et_-" Suddenly, Ludwig swung a fist and snarled at the Frenchman.

"THAT MONSTER HAS _MEIN KLEINES MÄDCHEN_ AND YOU WANT _MICH_ TO EAT?" Ludwig railed violently, tossing things at the French nation without aiming. "_DUMMKOPF_! _MÖRDER_! _DU SCHWEINEHUND, AUSSTEIGEN_!" Eventually Francis saw Ludwig drop his projectiles and he bit his lip as the stubborn German soldier lost his will to fight.

"_Je suis désolé_, Ludwig," He murmured, turning his head to the side, "but please eat something. Arthur will be checking." The blond ally tore his eyes away from Ludwig, brushing his bangs back behind his ears, and bit his lip harshly. He left with his head held high and his back straight, and told Arthur that Ludwig was eating.

Then he went back to his wine.

**~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~**

"Kiku, this is ridiculous," China murmured, rolling his shoulders to try and relieve the tension clawing at his muscles. "and unnecessary."

He hefted his sword and swung with a warrior's accuracy to smash its blunted edge across Japan's back, grimacing at the sound of dull on flesh. It connected solidly –painfully- but the Japanese man made no sound, retreating and diving for his own sword that lay useless a ways away.

China, ever graceful, cut him off and nearly broke his wrist with the next jarring blow. China stabbed downward forcefully, missing the flat expanse of Japan's exposed stomach by sheer chance, and his blade stuck down deep into the earth. Before Japan could get to his feet fully, China lashed out with a harsh kick to chest and used his momentum to draw his sword from the earth.

The nations went flying, a tangle of limbs and blade, but no blood stained the blade then; Japan turned his head, avoiding the chop, and took hold of it. Without wincing, he let the metal bite deep into his tender palm and pulled his "older brother" down to the dirt beside him.

"Take it back." Japan growled, his brown eyes dark.

"What?" China laughed, annoyed more than ever by Japan's passivity. "Such a chi-"

"What I am doing is not" Japan pulled the blade from China's loosened grasp and stabbed it just millimetres from his ear, severing the leather thong that kept his hair tied back. "ridiculous." China glanced from the blade to his ex-charge in surprise, but the surprise soon faded to amusement.

"Isn't it?' China challenged, using his elbows to sit himself up slightly. "Is this not madness? Europe is in shambles- nations shed their blood alongside their people! And why? Germ-"

"Do not" Japan ordered, silencing China. "blame Ludwig-san! You know as well as I do that it is the leader -Hitler- who is to blame!" His usually-quiet voice rose to a volume that China had not thought the Japanese man capable of. "This is not what Ludwig-san and his brother wanted..."

**~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~**

"_Fratello_? _FRATELLO_?" Italy tried to stay quiet but another spray of bullets deafened him momentarily and lit his heart on panicked fire. "_FRATELLO_, WHERE ARE YOU?" Italy had lost Romano when the shooting began and their little crowd of citizens had scattered on the wind.

As nations, a bullet would not kill them, but it would hurt a lot.

"D-Don't move." Italy yelped as an unknown nation's words reached his ears, freezing in mid-step, but he could see no one. Cautiously, Italy picked his way toward the voice, curious who had spoken, and suddenly he saw a man in the uniform of the invading forces. His blonde mop of hair curled gently behind his ears, accentuating a strong Western jaw line coated in milky-white Caucasian skin. Beyond him stood Italy's beloved 'fratello', stiff as a board: Italy's eyes caught the movement of a little girl ahead of Romano.

Romano tried to wave her away but the soldier's gun cocked sharply.

"I-I said 'don't move'..." Mumbled the nation in uniform, setting his cross hairs on Romano's back. Italy squinted at the unknown nation, desperate to put a name to the anxious dirty face: he looked very much like America, except he was soft lines where the American was sharp edges, and Italy concluded that this nameless nation was too timid to be 'the Hero of the West'. "or I'll shoot."

Italy shivered as the uncertainty faded from his tone and sharpened the threat to a killing point.

He did not doubt the other nation.

"_Vai_," Romano murmured, "_Ti resa durante l'esecuzione._" Italy whimpered and pulled back into a shadow as the little child stood up fully, clutching a doll tight to her chest.

"Be quiet!" The unknown nation cried, "Turn around, eh."

Suddenly Romano raised his hands, revealing the pilfered firearms he possessed, and Italy felt the air around them crackle with electricity.

"_No,_ _fratello_!" Screamed the younger Italian. "_Metti giù la pistola_!" Italy heard the nation cry the same thing in his own language before they both screamed it in the nations' tongue. "PUT THE GUN DOWN!" Romano's body jumped, his head leading his descent as the gunshot echoed off the buildings: where his left eye had been was a gushing hole of tattered tissues.

He had been shot.

"LOVINO!" Italy leapt from his hiding place, running to his brother's side and forgetting the nation still standing at-the-ready for another sho- Pain exploded up Italy's leg, searing his knee like an inferno, and the bullet wound sent the little soldier sprawling across the rocky ground. Italy could see Romano writhing weakly and spitting harsh curses in any language he could think of, leaving bloody smears over the rubble of his once-fair city. In the distance stood the child, blood splattered across her body and face; her dark eyes were wider than a full moon -the brutality was burning into her mind as Italy watched.

"..." Her little mouth hung open, groping for words that couldn't be said, and when she met his gaze, she fled with a shriek, crying for God.

A shadow fell across Italy's field of vision as the nation soldier circled Romano's bloody body brusquely and came to a halt with his army-issue boots inches from Italy's scraped chin.

"Surrender, Veneciano," Mumbled the nation, reloading his gun for another shot. "I don't want to have to incapacitate you or your brother any more than I have already." Italy said nothing, biting his lip hard against a cry for mercy. "Oh for the love of maple! It's an inconvenience, eh! Surrender!"

Suddenly, Italy remembered the nation:

"Canada?" Italy whimpered, "Is that you?"

"Quiet, eh. Do you surrender?" The gun in Canada's gloved hands cocked with a 'klik' that made Italy quake with fear. This Canada was not the quiet usually-unnoticeable man that Italy had seen at a World Meeting or two; this Canada was the Wendigo, the 'storm trooper' that Germany had been going on about- Italy knew he could not win.

Tears formed, "_Sì_! _Sì_! Don't shoot, please!" Italy buried his face in his sleeve, mopping up his tears, and shook like a leaf caught in a dreadful hurricane. "_Per favore_! _Per favore_!" Romano grunted, sounding displeased, and without any warning or hesitation, Canada buried the nose of his gun in the downed Italian's stomach.

"Surrender. _Sì o no_?"

"_Non mai_." Romano spat, his face all over blood and dust. "Never!" He kicked uselessly on the ground, glaring with his remaining eye and all his might, and his body jerked spasmodically. The gunshot through his brain was taking its toll, the mangled nerve tissue and missing sections of flesh sending signals to the wrong places and those scattered across the rocks. "Urgh- raah- mnnn!" His mouth spluttered nonsense, the undeniable and horrifying proof of the wound's damage, and Italy wailed as his brother began to weaken and lose consciousness.

"Romano! ROMANO!"

**~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~**

Darkness had fallen in the Soviet camp and, with its cover, so too came the faceless cries of the injured and orphaned: all of Berlin as screaming for relief and it made sleep impossible. America had yet to rest soundly since they had crossed the Elbe, making his blue eyes burn with exhaustion and his Nantucket droop wearily, and now under the pressure of those screams he could hardly sit still. America left his tents and men behind, clambering listlessly over rocks and rubble until he was high above the Russians' lights and swathed silently in the deep German night.

America slid his pistol from its holster, pressing the nose had into his thigh, and inched his finger up onto the trigger. If he pulled, the sound would easily be muffled by his own body and the screaming beyond; if not, he felt as if his brain would explode: this war- it was too much!

A droplet of sweat rolled down his pale forehead, streaking the layer of dust, and the young nation blinked it away with a groan. He closed his eyes, hiding the cerulean hue from the sickly moon's light and the darkness' seeking fingers. Slowly but surely, the golden-haired nation pulled his tr-

"If you're going to shoot yourself, hurry up." Snarled a dark voice, rough as sandpaper, "_Mein_ Awesomeness would like to sleep tonight. _Dummkopf_,"

America jumped, too highly-strung to be startled just then, and he fired blindly in the speaker's direction. A pained cry rang up from the nameless speaker, obviously German if its curses were anything to go by, and America dismounted from his perch. Beyond his rock field stood a small black tent, hidden in shadows and obviously not meant to be found. Inside, the cursing drew to a slow, unsteady halt, replaced by harsh panting- America could see a hole in the fabric facing his outcrop.

"Who are you?" America demanded quietly, aiming his pistol ahead as if he would kill on sight. "Dude, don't make me shoot you!"

"You already have, _genie_. What could be more unawesome than this?"

Slowly, America took hold of a tent flap, peeling one open to shed moonlight upon the interior of the little tent. He could easily see the wet patches of earth shining white in the new light, and disturbed soil cast dark shadows across the floor, but America could see no one. Stepping inside, though, gave his nose a waft of unwashed flesh and filth- it smelt like a sty inside the fabric hut.

"DU-" "Quiet, _dummkopf_!" Hissed the voice, "Do you want Ivan to find you?"

America flinched as a pair of eyes opened in the darkness, reflecting the meagre light like a cat's eyes. The irises were a dirty brown -bits of blue flecked across them, looking out of place- and the scelera surrounding each iris was filmed with rich red; America's insides quivered when he realized that it was blood. The Hero swallowed his cry of revulsion totally, also subduing the rations he'd eaten earlier, and dropped his shooting stance.

"What happened to your eyes?" America whispered, taking a daring step forward. The nation in the shadows blinked slowly -too languidly for such macabre conditions- and briefly masked the bright mirrors from the moon. Chains clanked in the shadows, unseen:

"Guess, _kluger mann_."

**~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~**

**Nein = (German) No**

**Mon cher = (French) My dear**

**Elle est trés fort = (French) She is very strong**

…**mein kleines Mädchen = (German) my little girl**

**Mich = (German) me**

**Dummkopf = (German) fool**

**Mörder = (German) murderer**

**Du Schweinehund, aussteigen = (German) You bastard, get out**

**Je suis désolé = (French) I'm sorry**

**Vai, ti resa durante l'esecuzinone. ****= (Italian) Go, I'll surrender while you run.**

**Metti giù la pistola! = (Italian) Put the gun down!**

**Non mai = (Italian) Never**

**genie = (German) genius**

**kluger mann = (German) smart guy**


	5. In The Dark of Night and Day - America

Chapter Five

In The Dark of Night and Day – America

America could feel the contempt rolling from the darkness in subdued waves of surf, caressing his calves maliciously, and he frowned at the undisguised hatred. The German voice was dry as a desert -what was going on?- and it took America a moment of wondering what Germany was doing here before he remembered that Germany was in France and England's custody. Was this-?

"Prussia?" America whispered, straining to make out a shape in the shadows. Could it be?

"Ach! Idiot! Why would I do this to myself?" Snapped Prussia, chains clattering and rolling again until a few links and a cuffed ankle came to light. The rest of the foot and leg followed, revealing tattered blue pants, pale scraped feet and heavy iron restraints. The torso that leaned into the moonlight was crisply white, layered with dark splatters of purple bruise and the rusty brown and red of blood. His strong jaw was dark with taken abuse, trails of coppery blood lining its defining contours like strokes from a fine brush. The sardonic smirk was lost, replaced by an unsettlingly inexpressive mouth that was cruelly split and swollen; above it were a crooked nose and a pair of mutilated orbs that burned as bonfires of disgust. A gash ran from the corner of one eye to Prussia's temple, the old stain tinting half his forehead and cheekbone an ugly vermillion-red; that injury was recent.

"What are you doing here?" Alfred asked, looking away a little to try and recover his war mask- it did no good to show emotion for the enemy. "Ivan said-"

"_Dummkopf_!" Prussia growled, tucking his chin down in a nasty glower. "He told you what he wanted you to know! He is _ein lügner_; _Luzifer_!"

"A wha-?" "How _ist mein schatz_, American?" Prussia interrupted America sharply, almost eager to hear the answer to his abrupt question. "Have you seen her? Is she still awesome?" America paused, bewildered, and the confusion slid across his pale face: what was a schatz? Who was the Prussian nation talking about? Germany, who was back with France and England?

"'_Schatz_'?" America repeated tentatively, "What are you saying, man?"

Prussia sighed: "_Mein liebste_, American, _mein Berlin_!" America made a soft sound in the back of his throat –now he understood Prussia's eagerness- and shook his head slowly, watching the sturdy man wilt in his tatters and chains. All the energy went out of Prussia and America flinched as the man groaned slightly, leaning back into the shadows slowly and resting in the darkness.

"Nah, man," America admitted solemnly, holstering his gun hesitantly. "I haven't seen your… your…"

"_Schatz_." Prussia finished blandly, sounding worn. "And if you haven't by now, you probably never will. _Mein Reike_ is with _Gott_ now…" Snuffling, Prussia rolled onto his side and huffed gruffly, sounding thick and teary as he continued from the cover of darkness. "I bet _deiser bastard_ has her body hanging in his tent right now…" America gagged at the image. "like a trophy." Now America could hear the unsteady breathing and he knew that the tough Prussian nation was crying in his shadowy hiding place, trying to act casual as he confessed his assumption about the little girl's fate. "_Ich sollte es gewesen sein…"_

America frowned as Prussia spoke in German, rendering the phrase indistinguishable: "What?"

"American," Prussia's eyes burned suddenly in the black, shining bright with determination. "if she's alive, get _mein schatz_ out of here. I don't care how, but get her away from Ivan." Prussia sat back into the light and America could see the shine on his beaten cheeks and the glisten in the corners of his brutalized eyes. "He'll kill _mein Mareike_ before you hold your pussy democratic trial."

America scoffed: "Dude, our trial is not pussy." But he could not deny the possibility that the little city's personification was doomed in Russia's care. "And what's-her-name won't die on my watch. I'm the 'Hero of the West', remember?"

"Mareike," Prussia said lowly, unable to even muster the effort to be angry or hostile with America anymore. "her name is Mareike, and she loves music. 'Hush Little Baby' is her favourite song…" Prussia choked on his last words, not hiding the new tears that formed and spilled haphazardly past his striking silver lashes and streaked the dried blood on his cheek. He tried to go on immediately but instead of words, a melding of a chuckle and a sob clawed its way free of his throat and dove into the air. "I-I can't stand this s_chieße_! _Ich hasse es_!" Prussia rasped, his breath shuddering though him, "I have to get her back!"

"Calm down, man!" America snapped, raising a finger and twisting his face into a hard scowl. "I just sai-"

"You're not listening!" Prussia shouted, wrenching against his chains as he shouted. "Ludwig's looking after her … she's only eight…" Prussia choked again, coughing sickly and jerking like a puppet on strings as his chest was racked with emotion. "Sometimes Ludwig- he gets too busy to play with her…" America looked on as Prussia started to shake, his tears rolling in waves that seemed to have no end. It was disturbing to see such a proud, strong nation quivering and whimpering in chains and the bloody tatters of his old clothing. "When I left, I told her I'd be back by sundown… she's only eight."

America shivered as Prussia's sobbing began to decrescendo, losing power and volume as he slowly settled down. Eventually he was just shivering and breathing hard, his voice gone even though his tears remained in droves, and America bent down to kneel beside the man.

"Dude?" He said questioningly, trying his best not to aggravate the man's obvious hysteria. "Dude, it's gonna be okay… I'll get her; Mikey, right? I'll get her. That commie won't kill your what'cha-ma-call-it." America saw Prussia twitch at his replacement: "No diss, man, I just don't speak Nazi-speak."

"Mareike…" Prussia mumbled thickly, his head bowed down and away from America. He knew how ashamed the pale nation must have felt, having broken down in front of what Prussia likely thought was 'the enemy', and America averted his eyes respectfully as he lightly patted his bare shoulder. "She's young and- and I couldn't- I lost."

"'m not judgin' you, man." America said soothingly, "It's just me here, Prussia-dude; don't worry. Just me- Alfred."

"M-My name's Gilbert…" Prussia murmured, swallowing around a lump in his throat. "Mei-Mein bruder… he's so young. It's not fair… it's just not fair."

"I know, man, I know…" America murmured, "Don't worry, 'Gilbert'… I'll get your girl. Mareike… what's it mean? 'Prettty gal'? 'Sassy'?"

"'Obstinancy'," Prussia mumbled sadly, peeking up at America with red, tearful eyes. "'their rebellion'… I named her," Prussia coughed, wiping at the wetness on his face. "with Ludwig…" When America nodded and said it was a good name, Prussia cried a little. "I loved her… she was so little in my arms. So, **so** little." America rubbed his back softly, careful of bruises, and he spent some time to clean the Prussian man up before he returned to came and got good and stinking drunk with the other human soldiers.

**~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~**

America's stomach rolled violently, sending liquor and camp food down into the waste pit, and America groaned miserably as he placed Texas back on his nose. He and his soldiers had partaken in some hearty drinking as they and the Russians had celebrated the victory over Nazi Germany, but now he was swearing to never touch a bottle of Russian vodka for the rest of his life. He couldn't remember how many bottles he'd emptied over the night, but he knew a good few of them had been for 'Gilbert' in the dark.

How could they not be? And now, America and his nation body were paying for the liquid deposit he'd made. In the back of his throbbing, exhausted mind, America wondered how the Prussian nation was fairing out in the elements there. Was he getting food? Water? Antibiotics?

"Good morning, my little comrade," Russia said briskly, appearing beside America without a sound and a smile on his pale face. America jerked, surprised by the man's sudden appearance, and Prussia's injuries leapt out in his mind when he saw the Russian man standing there. He grimaced.

"Oh God…" America snarled in English, ignoring Russia's nation tongue. "not now, bro. The hero is not ready for this…" America spat, gagging on the burn in his throat, and he cleared his throat once experimentally before he almost threw up whatever he had left in him. He wouldn't do that again.

"Berlin is awake," Russia told him seriously, "it is the time now to be getting her to talk." America's attention roused itself and fixed its sights on Russia. When he didn't answer, the taller nation assumed that he was agreeing with him and turned on his heel sharply. "Let us go, comrade," When Russia walked away, America was quick to rise and follow, even if he was still close to vomiting, and he entered a large tent with the Russian man.

What he saw next nearly emptied his faint stomach.

Past the foot of a well-dressed camp bed and a trunk lay a child like a discarded rag doll, her ankle attached to the farthest tent post by a thick, heavy-looking chain. Her blonde hair looked –where it was clean- like a platinum curtain, but it was mostly filthy and America could see stains from blood that was likely hers. Her arms and legs were badly bruised, mottled into disgusting shades of blue and black in near-perfect circles; bomb patterns. Her mouth hung open slightly, her pink lips chapped and bloody; she smelled just as Prussia did, obviously unable to go very far, and America could see that lashes on the backs of her legs were infected and swollen.

Her eyes were blue like the open sky on a summer afternoon, however dull and lifeless they were now, and America cried out wordlessly in horror; he hadn't thought Russia capable of this! Without a word, America leapt forward and ripped the link of iron holding her ankle cuff to the post, freeing her enough that he could lift her into his arms.

A hand settled on his shoulder roughly. "What are you doing, America?"

"Saving this girl!" America snapped, swatting Russia away and rising to his full height with the limp city cradled in his arms. "This is sick! You fucking sonofabitch! What is wrong with you?!" He felt the girl quiver at his shouting and rocked her ever so slightly, murmuring senselessly in the silence between Russia and himself. "I'm taking her out of here. Got me?"

"And if I do not, what?" Russia challenged. "You will shoot me, _da_?"

"Absolutely." America snarled, unmoving and surprised he had not noticed pulling out his gun. Berlin lay against his chest, her breathing harsh in his ear, and her shaky little hands were tentatively holding onto his jacket. She couldn't have been seventy pounds soaking wet, even if America was super-strong, and that fact darkened his expression.

Russia smiled: "Go ahead, then," He said smoothly, stepping to the side of the doorway. "Go. But do not be coming back here comrade or I will have to be getting my men all upset for things that do not need being upset over… _da_?"

America approached cautiously, wary that Russia might attempt a blow. "Fuckin' 'ay." He spat, quickly holding the girl a little closer and hurrying back to his tent so that he could grab has gear and leave. He passed his commanding officer, who he thought would question him, but the man just nodded to America and his charge as he passed and came him an extra clip of bullets.

As America walked, he soon found himself humming.

**~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~**

**Dummkopf = (German) fool**

**ein lügner = (German) a liar**

**Luzifer = (German) Lucifer [as in the fallen angel]**

…**ist mein schatz = (German) …is my treasure/sweetheart**

**mein liebste = (German) my dear/darling/sweetheart**

**Gott = (German) God**

**deiser bastard = (German) that bastard**

…**mein kleines Mädchen = (German) my little girl**

…**schieße****= (German) …shit**

**Ich hasse es! = (German) I hate it!**

**Mein bruder = (German) My brother**

**Da = (Russian) Yes**


	6. In the Hands of the Allies - Berlin

Chapter Six

In the Hands of the Allies – Berlin

For the longest time, the frail little city said nothing. America –she recognised him more after a few administrations of water and antibiotics returned some sense to her- jogged a great deal, trying clumsily not to jar her and her lashed legs without success. Berlin clutched his neck tightly, burying her face just within the collar of his uniform and against his skin, and let him take her across the countryside. At the next Allied camp, America managed to catch a plane bound for London, much to Berlin's unvoiced terror, and it was then that her newest guardian slept.

The world was solely hers to bear witness to from above the clouds, and America was curled up in a cozy corner with his mind far from there. Berlin paid him little attention at first, but slowly and surely, his soft snoring drew her like a moth to flames and she sidled up beside him.

He did not stir.

Berlin took a small gasping breath and raised her small shaky hands, letting them hover over his throat daringly before she let their skin meet. It was an electrifying thing; in her mind, she could not grasp the power resting on her.

She could strangle him.

In that moment she was a threat to one of the fastest growing countries in the world and the thought both thrilled and horrified her.

And yet, America still did not stir.

Without speaking, Berlin lifted her hands away again and let out the breath she hadn't meant to hold in a soft gasp. Her sound echoed in the plane, America's snores long-gone, and she slipped herself back out of his space.

"You should sleep." America said suddenly, making Berlin shriek wordlessly as his words slid up her spine like snakes. She spun, rolling from her knees to her back, and her wide blue eyes locked with the placid blue of his own. "The world'll still be here when ya wake up, Mikey." She was frozen –a deer caught in the deadly beams of manmade light- and only her brows creased when he called her 'Mikey'; she didn't know what to do and he caught that. He sat up, popping his joints stiffly without looking away, and reached out to her. "Hey- listen… I'm not gonna hurt ya. Gilbert- You know Gilbert?"

Berlin twitched. "_Vati_?" She whimpered, "_Mein Vati_, _Gilbert_?" Her eyes watered at the memory of her loving father, his beautiful oceanic eyes blazing in the morning sun as he left for the Eastern front, and she whined low in her throat as the tears blocked her vision. "_Ja_… Pruss-ia."

America nodded: "Yeah, Prussia. My name's Alfred, and I promised him I'd get'cha and keep ya safe… 'kay?" America looped his pinkie around Berlin's, catching her off-guard, and he squeezed lightly with his smile growing in size. "Imma keep you safe, Mikey."

"Gilbert…" Berlin mumbled thickly, her teary blue eyes falling to their entwined fingers sadly. "Ludwig…" She let her hand fall, breaking their connection, and Berlin curled herself away from the American without another word. She felt the pang of loneliness in her chest like a physical blow and it was hard to understand that her family was being torn from her so harshly. She had felt her Gilbert in the Russian camp somewhere, but now she couldn't feel him or her Ludwig. Why was this happening?

Suddenly America's voice caught her attention again; he was singing.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word/This dude's gonna buy you a mockingbird," Berlin gawked at the nation, shocked that he knew her song, and she bit her lip anxiously. He had not been lying when he said that he'd spoken to her Gilbert, then, and Berlin swallowed around her pride.

She wanted to crawl up next to the young nation lying there –he had given up and lain back down as he'd been before- and curl in against him to sleep; it was so common to do it with her father, but to snuggle up to this Westerner seemed blasphemous.

What would they say?

Despite her reluctance, the nation's rumbling voice was slowly soothing her frayed nerves inside, and it wasn't long before Berlin could resist no more. She swallowed softly, getting on her knees, and crept up to America hesitantly until she could reach out and touch his jacket.

"Alfa-redd…" Berlin whispered, keeping her eyes on her pale fingers as they gripped the edge of the nation's jacket and tugged once. "Alfa-redd?" The blond man jerked, pausing his song to look up at her groggily until he realized what was going on. Neither of them spoke openly and it took a few minutes before Berlin could think of some way to communicate with him. "America? I… sle-sle… peh?" She winced as her own voice fumbled over his smooth words, never used to anything but German, but she saw the lights of recognition flicker on behind America's eyes.

"Yeah," America nodded, shifting an arm to welcome her, but she rejected the cuddle to curl up against his side and retain some of her disappearing pride. Nevertheless, his arm draped across her awkwardly and set her on edge; after a few more verses, Berlin was asleep.

**~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~**

"Oh, she is so adorable!" Berlin twitched as voices dragged her from her dark nightmares, flickering her eyelids and letting sunlight filter past her lashes. Sunlight? How could sun get through into the plane? Berlin opened her eyes abruptly, scanning the fancy room and the men at what appeared to be her bedside; she was not on the plane anymore. She cried out fearfully as she sat up and found that her aches and pains were catching up with her: bandages circled her legs tenderly and salves coated her open wounds reassuringly. "Don't worry, _ma petite_," Her eyes fell on a tall, slender man with golden stubble scattered over his chin and jaw line; he was handsome –the sun shone in his honey-coloured locks- and his blue-blue eyes rested on her lightly. "no one is going to hurt you here."

"America?" Berlin murmured, looking around anxiously, "Alfa-redd?"

A rough voice startled her: "He's busy," Berlin's head turned so fast that it cracked and her blue eyes widened when they caught sight of the British nation sitting in a chair across the room. His green eyes clashed with hers, shooting sparks, and Berlin winced as flashes of the nation's conquests surfaced in the forest-toned depths; this nation was great and Berlin felt unimaginably small. "Why?" His hair stuck out at every angle and she felt the power rolling off him clog her throat.

"_Angleterre_!" France scolded, "Do not scare her! She has just woken up!" Hs eyes hardened momentarily as he and the Brit clashed, and Berlin could see the instinct to fight buried deep in both men. "Of course she would be looking for _l'Amerique_! He rescued her!" Berlin was tempted to speak up, but the sharpening of the men's tongues was enough to leave her out of this new battle; she slowly slid out of her bed, wincing as her feet took her weight again, and she scuttled through the open doorway.

The hallway was dark, the elegant side table and chairs casting strange shadows on the dark carpet and throwing sinister angles upon the ornate painted portraits. Berlin scuttled past them cautiously, holding her breath as if their cold dead eyes tracked her progress, and she nearly shrieked as a cat stalked around the corner. Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling the sound, and it took a moment of held breath to calm down her hammering heart.

"_Ha-Hallo_," She managed, breathing quickly as her German bounced all around her. "_Ich heiße es_ _Mareike_…" She didn't like the icy feeling running up and down her spine –German obviously had no place in these halls- and didn't like that the hollow feeling in her stomach had returned. She thought she had gotten past it: "_Katze_…"

"Meow~!" It said loudly, narrowing its eyes at her, and she fled as it flicked its tail calmly. Ludwig had always warned her away from felines, saying they were dangerous, but now she knew the truth: they're evil.

Berlin ran so hard she swore her abused little legs were bleeding again, but she refused to fall victim to the feline claws of that vicious predator.

"_Vati_!" She cried helplessly, "_Vati_! Alfa-redd! _Katze_! _Und katze_!"

Her breath was failing her with all the shouting she was doing -the pain in her empty belly was long forgotten by then- and the new sharp pains in her thighs were sapping away her strength. It was growing harder and harder to keep moving, even though the cat was likely hot on her heels with its claws at the ready. It was all she could do to stagger into the kitchen and lean against the closed door, wheezing she sat down and her little lungs clawed for breath after breath.

Her bright sky-blue eyes closed in relief, her breath rustling her tousled platinum locks, and her spindly legs left a faint red sheen on the floor as they lay strewn beneath her.

"Mikey?" Berlin's eye flew open fearfully, halting a breath in her throat. She watched tensely as America and a man stood up from an old wooden table anxiously, their similar faces mirroring each other fluidly, and approached her prone form.

The cat's soft paw batted at her through the space between the door and the floor suddenly and Berlin shot up out of her seat with an undignified yelp. She bumped against a pair of sturdy legs, using them as scaleable tree trunks, and was quickly clinging to the blond man's head. Her bright eyes were locked onto the feline religiously, leaving it only when America shooed the little beast away and shocked her; who was she clinging to?

Her head swivelled slowly, horrified by her own mistake, and she slowly met the surprised ocean orbs of America's doppelganger with a shy squeak of surprise.

"Alfa-redd!" Berlin whimpered; her little hands were unwilling to drop her abused body to the flagstone kitchen floor, not even so as to escape this stranger. "_Hilfe_, America!" She looked the blond her for help.

"Berlin?" Her title left this new man's lips as softly as a prayer. She twitched in response, the wide depths of her eyes returning from America to lock with his oceanic pools of vision. They bored into her like tiny beams, leaving her feeling overexposed and as limp as wet noodles- she squirmed and reluctantly let him hold her in his firm arms. "_Sind sie Berlin_?"  
Hearing German roll solemnly off this West man's tongue shocked her stiff and he smiled in kind: "_Sie sind, sind Sie nicht_. _Wie ist dein name_? _Ich bin Matthew_,"

"'Matthew'?" Berlin knew that name. "_Vati's freund_? 'Birdie'?"

"_Ja_," Berlin's eyes widened even more, her little mouth forming a pink-lipped ring of surprise. "_haeben sie angst vor katzen_?"

"Uh-huh," The little German city nodded shyly, "_Ludwig immer gesagt, katzen sind gefährlich_..."

'Birdie' laughed and his smile touched her: "_Wirklich_?"

"_Ja_," Berlin nodded, "_und die katzen ist böse_."

America blurted something loudly, whining, suddenly appearing at 'Birdie's side and asking many English questions that Berlin could not understand. His similar counterpart responded in English as well, his voice softer and more measured, and the pair left Berlin in a bubble all her own until he turned back to her and gave her a smile and an explanation.

She returned his casual smile shyly, ducking her head, and Alfred suddenly lifted her out of Matthew's arms into his own, surprising her enough to squawk. She wriggled until she got comfortable, much like a bird with rumpled feathers, and looked up at the American unpleasantly.

Berlin soon learned to live with America's affections, growing to enjoy his noise and vitality, and with Canada's help, she grew beyond the limits of German. Her English improved over the month or so in leaps and bounds, even without his help; she followed Britain around for days, ducking out of his sight stealthily when her presence was revealed, and gradually they came to a silent agreement.

When Britain took his afternoon tea, he took it in a place chocked full of hiding places; he read with his tea and snack –always very loudly and clearly- and never totally finished the provisions before he left.

And Berlin too added to the tradition; she cleaned away the tea things, she left out a book in their special place, and she never made herself openly visible- she was always "spying" on his respites.

With France and his loving language, she had no way to hide. He possessed some skill the others did not for finding her when and wherever, his bright blue eyes always a-sparkle with delight when he sighted her, and she grew very fond of him. He hugged her tightly and brushed her hair attentively as he cooed to her in his own tongue; she never understood everything he said, but he never seemed to mind. He assumed the role of "her loving Papa Francis", as he had put it, and he was the one who took to most of her nursing and coddling. Matthew, she learned, was is true son –he and Britain, called Arthur, had fought over him for a long time- but the Brit now had custody over both the young men: Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America, and Matthew Williams, Canada.

Berlin loved America dearly –perhaps because he rescued her- and it was a good day when her Alfred could play outside with her; she was hardly ever allowed outside. And sometimes, thought why she never knew, he and the other men would play with her in a room with a large mirror on one wall- behind that wall, she could feel her Ludwig, but Berlin never mentioned him.

They played there more and more as the days past, sometimes giving lessons and taking meals in the little room, and her men spent much of their free time inside by themselves.

But that all changed when the day of the trial arrived.

**~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~**

**ma petite = (French) my little one**

**Angleterre = (French) England**

**l'Amerique = (French) America**

**Hallo = (German) Hello**

**Ich heiße es Mareike = (German) My name is Mareike**

**Katze = (German) cat**

**Vati = (German) Papa**

**Hilfe = (German) Help**

**Sind sie Berlin = (German) Are you Berlin**

**Sie sind, sind Sie nicht. ****Wie ist dein name? Ich bin Matthew = (German) You are, aren't you. What is your name? ****I am Matthew**

**Freund = (German) friend**

**haeben sie angst vor katzen? ****= (German) are you afraid of cats?**

**Ludwig immer gesagt, katzen sind gefährlich... ****= (German) Ludwig always said cats are dangerous...**

**Wirklich? = (German) Really?**

**und die katzen ist böse. ****= (German) and that cat is evil.**


	7. Something You Should Know!

Hey, everybody!

Recently, I was in an accident and got hit by a van. I suffered a level 2 concussion from not wearing my helmet, got 8 staples in my head, got 5 stitches in my leg, and ripped the ligaments on either side of my right ankle entirely away. I'm on crutches and missed some important weeks of school so, while I am trying to write and get you all updates, I'm really also trying to focus on getting better and recovering my lost school performance.

I've got two months of biweekly laser therapy lined up to repair my ankle, and that's going to be so much fun. I love hearing everyone giving me suggestions about my writing and how I can improve it (shout-outs to: **Uninvited Guest(Guest), TheMysticWolf36(user) **and **Lovely Manga (Guest)** for their suggestions on _Bruder, Come Home!_ And _Le Lettre De Mon Amour_). I appreciate everyone else who's helped me along my writing journey, but these lucky two were the only handles I had on file right now.

Unfortunately, I had my laptop with me in the crash and, being on a bike and getting smashed with a van going 66 km/h, it suffered more than I did. The newest chapter of _Bruder Come Home_ was on there, to be posted that day, but as of now all my works and newest updates are out of reach. Hopefully ASUS will recover my files and replace my laptop, but I can't be sure. If they do, I can get my 'Helpful People' list and send another mass letter to all those great writers and writeresses who've been such great people.

Until I post again, and hopefully that's soon,

OnnaMurcielago666


	8. The Trial - JapanItaly

**THANK GOD FOR ASUS! ALL MY DATA THAT WAS ON MY LAPTOP WAS UNTOUCHED! IT WAS ALL AN EXTERNAL PROBLEM! LOOK FORWARD TO BETTER UPDATES FROM NOW ON AND ENJOY THIS CHAPTER OF **_**BRUDER, COME HOME**_**! IT'S WAITED ALMOST TWO MONTHS TO BE READ! BUT REMEMBER, HETALIA BELONGS TO H.H. THE GREAT!**

Chapter Seven

The Trial - Japan/Italy

Looking around the room discreetly, Japan took inventory of the countries present and their conditions. He himself had spent his time with China –in his dungeon, chained to the wall without a warrior's due dignity- and as a prisoner, he had lost touch with the states of his allies and their ilk.

He could see the Italys sorry forms across the room on either side of the inconspicuous colony known as Canada; the young blond man was slim, his rounded face and soft wavy locks reminiscent of kindness, but the sharp cut of his eyes and attire keyed that this British commonwealth would be great.

On the Canadian's left, Japan could see South Italy slumped in his wheelchair, the bandages covering the one eye and most of his head while the other remained on display. The usually keen gold orb was dull and lifelessly flat despite the rise and fall of his chest to prove the rumors true. Canada had shot out his eye and his brain was still regenerating –slowly to the nations' standards, if Japan had heard correctly.

His little brother, North Italy, was in better shape than the southern half.

Japan's eyes locked with his ally's and the sparks of fearful understanding and anxiety were assuring. However, the younger Italian was not without his own wounds; his leg was heavily bandaged and Japan could see the crutches leaning against the wall behind him. It was evident that he had not been sleeping or eating soundly, by choice or by conditions, and that his concern for the only missing Axis Power was destroying him from the inside out.

Japan didn't acknowledge America when the nation took his place at the judge's seat, feeling sick at the sight of his face. His wound ached painfully beneath cloth bandages and gauze, but he refused to clutch the radiating ache in his side with the westerner in his presence. Had he not done enough? Had Japan not paid with the blood of Hiroshima's people for what he had tried to do? Were 135,000 innocent lives not enough? When the blond man tried to catch Japan's dark eye wordlessly the Asian man leaned back in his chair, eyes closing, and tried to clear his mind of thought.

Anger would do nothing here but spark War's untended hate fires.

The doors at the end of the hall opened, signalling another unhappy arrival, and this newcomer made Japan shiver anxiously, sending a pang into his delicate stomach. Russia had finally come, pulling Prussia in tow by the heavy links of chain fastened around his skinny neck. The chain was obviously closing his throat a little with its weight, his wheezing breath sharp and audible in the quiet room, but Russia paid it no mind and took up both his chair and the one set out for the German nation.

Prussia stood faintly, his eyes bandaged closed and his breathless panting unchanged, with his dirty injured form bared to the collective by Russia's will and his sickening smile of –dare Japan assume?- pride. Japan raked his eyes over the smattering of dark and healing bruises, streaked sometimes with the rusty grime of blood. It was clear that the nation had not been cared for, as a split lip had grown infected and swollen and a gash was not scabbing, and the Prussian's handsome nose was obviously crooked. Japan bit his own lip sternly at the ribs visible on the trashed skin of Prussia's sides, sickened by the cruelty, and he snorted rudely at it behind his hand. Japan received a swift jab to the side, but it was much more worth it to rebel briefly than to take his ally's unspoken insult in meek-faced silence.

And finally the centre of the Axis was led in with his head held high. Germany followed Britain inside calmly, his face haggard but lacking the abuse carved into his older brother's anguished features. His blond locks were back –re-gelled with precision and trimmed back into order- and his uniform had traded itself for a suit of stark black material that was obviously cut by a Frenchman. It oozed age and authority; he may have been a criminal now, but he was not a coward.

The other countries –the westerners, the communists, the Europeans- hissed and growled, showing all manner of disproval at the Aryan nation took his seat beside Britain and murmured a quick English 'thank you' as the kingdom silenced the lesser nations.

All the players were present.

"Okay now," America mumbled lowly, standing up, "the Allies call upon the State of Germany, the Kingdoms of Italy, and the State of Japan to step forward." His eyes were not on a sheet –it was not rehearsed, or written beforehand, or written **for** him- and it was surprising, almost impressing, to hear him speak so well after all his 'dude!' and 'bro!' slang.

Japan rose, not waiting for China before he took his place beside the Aryan that had eagerly stepped forward. Italy took longer, having to maneuver his cast and crutches around the desks, and it was several awkward minutes before he could limp to Germany's other side.

Finally, the Axis stood as one again and Japan saw Italy catch Germany's hand and entwine their fingers.

"Now, as we address the-" "Wait," Russia interrupted America loudly, stepping away from his chairs and hanging the chain loop upon the one post to keep Prussia there as if he were an unruly animal. "We need the other, as well, da?"

No one spoke as the towering nation wheeled the mindless nation from his place and up to the line of the accused, and then sat down. His smile did not change in the least as he moved Romano around, seeming ready to dump the crippled Italian from his chair, and Italy breathed a sigh of fearful relief when Russia sat his brother there next to him unharmed.

America was glaring disapprovingly at the Russian nation, who was obviously splitting hairs for the sake of splitting something, and cleared his throat.

"We, as the Allies and the European Advisory Committee, have come to our decision upon the fate of you, the Axis Powers. Japan, I will be presiding over the demilitarization and the introduction of democracy into your government system, and Italys, you will hand over control of your colonies while we remove fascism from the core of your government." America pronounced the sentence matter-of-factly and tersely, his expression unwavering from the composed mask of war-time solemnity. "Germany," America continued, "as the instigator and the main perpetrator of this mass slaughter, are to be divided into sectors that we, the Allies, will each monitor and occupy independently of one another. As your people have been thoroughly repressed so far, we will place ourselves in the temporary position of government within our own sector and crush any attempts at a military rising from your citizens. Should any occur, they will be punished. Should you try to start any, you will be punished as well. Understood?"

Germany nodded firmly, swallowing and discreetly giving Italy's hand a tight squeeze of reassurance. Japan felt his heart thump hard and felt the feeling he knew well; he was fond of his allies, both of them, and their love was warming to him. He remembered then why he had chosen to fight for Hitler and join Germany in the alliance, despite Italy's shortcomings, and easily resisted the urge to smile.

"_Ja_," Germany said clearly, his rich voice carrying easily to every ear. "I understand."

"You and your brother are being separated by the occupying forces." America told him seriously, "Any contact will be approved and authorized by all four of us, and overseen strictly. There will be no exchanges; you give and get nothing from each other, understand?"

"_Ja_," Germany repeated, his voice a little less sincere and charismatic than before. "I understand," Japan glanced at him, reading the displeasure hidden in the lines at the corners of hi eyes, and felt the heavy weight of guilt. He was their ally and Japan felt partially responsible for the punishment; Japan awkwardly stepped to the side, bumping against Germany, and retained their contact as he straightened his posture.

'_Do not give up,_' He thought faintly –conspiratoriously- as if someone present would hear him and descend upon him like a vengeful warrior. Japan glanced at the American daringly, uncertain of what he would see, and he fell deep into the stormy blue portals on the westerner's face. In them was calm; in them was quiet; in them was the ocean's possibility for cool, blue kindness- Japan was drowning in the jealousy; he was suffocating in the desire there; Japan could feel the power over him already and shivered fleetingly at the possession sparkling there.

"All conquered land is to be returned to the nations of Europe from which it was taken, and from henceforth Prussia is to be **dissolved**."

"What?!" Germany gasped, stiffening in shock. "Why?! _Es ist mein _fault! Leave _mein bruder_ alone!"

"Quiet, you!" Britain's sharp rebuke struck the air like a bolt of lightning and cleft the Axis apart, making Germany twitch and Italy drop his crutches; he fell forward. In a clatter of limb and crutch, Italy and Germany were tangled in each other, but uninjured, and the crutches lay before them as a fallen crucifix of warning. Italy's breath seized loudly and, with a glance at Romano, he dashed the supports away with his casted foot and whimpered. The nations of Europe hushed, watching Italy hide his tears in Germany's suit jacket, and whispered amongst each other.

Ivan was unmoved, and rose: "Comrade, we are on a busy schedule, _da_?" His statement hardened a few European hearts, ending the miserable expression on Hungary and Finland's faces, and held great power. America's eyes masked their tumultuous feeling and he cleared his throat weakly –uncertainly.

"Alright, everyone, just keep your hats on!" He said loudly, banging on the tabletop brusquely, "Calm down!"

"Please c-" "Ach, get on with this _scheiße_." Prussia snorted suddenly, interrupting Japan with a muttered apology afterwards; Ivan yanked brutally upon the chain, his grip high, and the pale-haired Prussian gagged twice as he fell and nearly hung himself on the chain.

Hungary visibly twitched beside Austria, even going as far as a hiss of disapproval, but she fell dead-silent when Russia looked to them and let Prussia breathe.

"Something you are wanting to be saying?" Russia asked sweetly, smiling at the couple.

"_N-Nein,_" Austria said hurriedly, gripping Hungary's hand tight. He glanced at her warningly, "nothing."

"Good," Russia nodded, turning his smile on the boisterous American. "_then you will go on with your pretty wordings and useless trial, da_?" America frowned in confusion, unable to decipher the cheery Russian's phrase from 'good' to '_da_'.

He brushed it off: "Prussia is to be dissolved, and the city of Berlin shall become the capital –regardless of the sector-" Germany, to the shock of everyone, gave a pitiful sob that held the basics of 'thank God' and blink back tears. "and shall be divided as such between the sectors that are to be occupied."

Prussia stood up bravely, chain dangling, and spoke.

"What do you mean 'divided'?" He demanded, "She's my little girl, not a cake! What will happen to _mein schatz_, Alfred, what?" Prussia leapt the half-wall keeping him isolated from the Axis and approached the American angrily. "You gave your word, American! You promised, remember?" He came close –closer than anyone would have expected- before his chain came into his captor's grasp and he was wrangled and beaten into submission.

America watched dutifully as Russia laid into the man; it was his job as leader, as the Hero of the West, to see it all.

Britain watched with cruel satisfaction and a slight taint of discomfort at the ease with which he watched the violence take place. He marvelled detachedly at how desensitized he had become, and looked away.

In the midst of Russia's waning violence, no one noticed France until he cleared his throat loudly in the heavy breathing and the speechless silence that Russia's display had created.

"_L'Amerique_, she wants to come in now…" He claimed, peeking around the door. "She heard the shouting."

"Not now, you stupid sod!" Britain snapped, rising to his feet and making for the door. "The child will have to- Marie, you are to wait outside until I come fetch you, understand?"

"But…" A thin voice passed between the two doors and France's figure. "_Vati_?" Prussia looked up at the voice, parting his lips to cry out to her, but gave a garbled 'here!' when Russia's foot met his ribs violently.

Suddenly, the little blond girl leapt into the room, diving past France, and hurried down the aisle toward where an astonished Ludwig was standing. Japan was quick to support Italy as their friend turned to meet her and watched sadly as Britain caught her first. He swept his long arms around her, lifting her off her dainty little feet, and calculatingly adjusted her clothes as he held her on one slim hip like a mother well-versed with children. She, in turn, struggled little and –while she did keep glancing at her men around the room- made no attempts to free herself while the British nation scolded her. France joined him, appearing smoothly beside Britain, and took the young German city out of his arms: Germany heard Britain's final words and his jaw fell open.

"Now listen, luv, I want you to stay with Papa Francis until I come for you, alright? If you're a good girl,"

"Britain," America said clearly, "let her stay. She needs to hear this too. It concerns her as a city of Germany.

"Alfa-redd!" Berlin squealed with delight, waving at the American from Francis' arms. "_Icht Vader und Vati! _See,_ bruder?_"

"I know, Mikey, just stay quiet- kay?" America said quickly, smiling at her cheerful display. "Brother Alfred's on hero duty."

"'Hero duty'!" Berlin gasped in astonishment, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. She quickly recovered herself and scowled: "'Kay." She kept up her little scowl for a moment before she whispered in France's ear and the two of them laughed together quietly. France tenderly nuzzled her face with his stubbly chin, bringing a smile to her face, and sat beside Britain in Germany's vacated chair. Her beautiful little eyes burned holes in Ludwig with her bright gaze, drinking him in body and soul, and remained eagerly silent as America began again his sentence upon the fair-haired Germanic trio.

"Berlin –the town 110 miles into Soviet Germany's territory- is to become the center of the four-joint parts: 188 m2 and 2,250,000 citizens of the town are now western territory, and the remaining 144 m2 and 1,100,000 citizens will remain eastern territory." Berlin's small gasp echoed higher than any other and fell as a star.

"_Bruder_, Alfa-redd?" She murmured, getting down from Francis' lap despite his cooing and Britain's sharp chiding.

"_Nien!_" Germany blurted, "You can't! She's just a girl- our little girl! He'll kill her and you know it, America!" He pointed accusingly at the Russian nation, doing more and more shouting, until suddenly Berlin was at his elbow and pulling on his extended arm lightly. "Mareike! _Schatz,_ go sit do-"

"I think… _bruder_ America is right." She announce quietly, looking back at where Britain and France were standing at the start of the aisle, beside Russia's box. "He want peace. I want peace. I will… trust Alfa-redd_ und_ Birdie._ Und_ my new papas." Finally, after she met the eyes of the rest of Europe, she looked up at Germany and the other Axis shamefully; when she had been picking up different languages, she had also managed to piece together a rough idea of how to speak like the nations did. "_Es tut mir leid, Vader Deutschland_."

Germany looked at her with his mouth open.

"Good girl," Prussia muttered in hoarse German, finally rising from his position on the ground and supporting himself with the little half-wall. He tugged at the bandages on his face, despite the Russian's short 'don't' and revealed the shocking bloody irises to the rest of the nations; his daughter froze, looking horrified by the state of her father, and her mouth floundered mutely for something to say. "I knew I taught you **something** worthwhile. Conquering does not mean crushing, right?"

Her eyes danced over his bruised chest, following the trails of gritty blood, and his face made her wince even though she could not tear her big blue eyes off of him. She drank in the sight of him like an alcoholic does liquor or parched men do water, seeming to glow at the morbid sight of him, and took a hesitant step forward.

"_Vati_?" She whispered, her little hands quivering against her pristine little dress. She looked so confused as she examined Prussia, as if this battered man couldn't be the one she knew, and took her steps carefully until they were separated by only the wall. "_Mein Vati… Gilbert_?"

"_Ja, Reike,_" Prussia reached out to her, making the Allies tense, and touched her cheek. "I'm sorry I'm late." Suddenly, Brlin's eyes were full of big sparkling tears and she blinked at the first onslaught with a small whimper. They fell from her round cheeks like stars in the sun coming through the windows and she gripped his large, calloused hand with both her own and leaned into the comforting touch. America watched uncomfortably, looking around at the other nations, and quickly beat a hand on the table:

"Uh, meeting over. Prussia, Germany- we'll give you three a few minutes to say goodbye." America quickly vacated the chief position, shepherding a few of the smaller European nations out of the stands to try and give the little family a bit of privacy before they ripped them apart. He saw Canada hand Italy his crutches and wheel Romano back out and signalled for China to collect Japan, glaring at the Russian who seemed intent on remaining in the room. "For God's sake, Russia, give them five minutes." He demanded, and he growled under his breath when the Russian nation paused and seemed to contemplate the order as if he had made a request. "Dude-"

"_Da,_" Russia smoothly got to his feet, trailing behind Italy in a way that sped the injured Italian up, and he passed America with a small quirk of his lips. "but you are too soft, comrade." And then the two men closed the door behind them and left the men alone with their daughter.

"_Bruder_," Germany began, quickly approaching his older silver-haired sibling concernedly. "I-"

"Don't, West." Prussia cut off the blond man, stroking his little city's face with his thumb as she cried against his palm. "What's done is done, and nothing will change; at least, not for a while. We just have to grin and bear it until they loosen up. Right now, everybody thinks we're unawesome and crazy like those fucking Nazis, which isn't too far off, and they're feeling shitty from all the fighting."

"If we're good, will they give you back, _Vati_?" Berlin whimpered, looking up at both of them. "Will they put you back like you're supposed to be and make me not be a capital anymore?" She looked back and forth from face to face, hoping for the affirmative answer she did not see, until she understood. "They can put you back, can't they?"

"Not really, Reike," Prussia cupped her other cheek with his free hand, lifting her face and smiling at her. "Putting countries back from being dissolved is like… like…"

"Are you going to die?" Berlin asked, her voice faltering as more tears formed. She gripped his hands in hers, squeezing as tightly as she could. "I don't want you to die, _Vati_, _ich liebe dich_!" Prussia dropped his hands, leaving Berlin's face flushed and bare, and turned to lock his mangled irises with the blue pools of concern trapped within his brother's eyes.

"Don't fight the westerners," He told Germany seriously, "and this occupation will soon be over. The Hero" –Berlin winced as her new 'brother's title came spilling from her Vati's lips in a sneer. - "will sail away, Old Britain will recoil with him, _und _Francis will go back to his luxury as always."

Berlin whimpered: "But _Vati_-"

"Leave _Russland_ to me." Prussia ordered, looking down at his distraught little city and across at his brother. "I will handle him, _verstehst du_?" He made both of them nod, shaking hands with each of them to seal it as a promise, and kissed Berlin's forehead hard when he ran out of confident words to say. She –Berlin would never, ever say anything- could feel him shaking against her faintly, trying to hide it from her and his brother, and she hugged him tightly with both arms to try and comfort him without the clumsy use of words.

"_Ja_," Berlin whispered into his shoulder.

"_Ja_." Germany grunted, avoiding looking at Prussia's quivering form as he wrapped himself over Berlin. Germany didn't know if it was fear or exhaustion causing the silver-haired man's tremors, but he couldn't stand to see them continue and hugged Berlin from the other side to keep Prussia still. He felt Berlin push against his chest slightly- heard the soft whine he knew she always made when she was content, and sighed against their hair. They were so fragile like this, curled up in his strong black-swathed arms so close to his heart and Germany placed a faint kiss on each of them like a blessing.

All three of them looked up in alarm when America and Britain pushed the double doors open, turning their privacy public, and exposed their last tender moments to the scrutiny of the world. Germany dropped his eyes as they wandered past the two Allies, catching sight of those Hitler had conquered, and buried his face in Berlin's soft hair quickly. He wanted the moment to last, but it took little more than Britain opening his arms to shatter it.

Berlin shifted between the brothers, reluctant to leave her Ludwig and her Gilbert so soon, but she knew that the longer she stayed the more pain it would cause. She bit her lip and released her hold on Prussia, anxiously weaselling back and forth until her beautiful family separated down the middle and released her; she pressed a quick kiss to Prussia's cheek, breathing shallowly, and turned around.

"_Auf wiedersehen, Vater Deutschland_," She murmured, saluting formally as he'd taught her. She turned her back on her Ludwig, now wanting nothing more but to throw herself back into the safe circles of their arms. She looked down at his battered torso sadly, not wanting to see his disappointment or his despair, but steeled herself and raised her eyes to the once-matching pair on her Gilbert's face.

The surprised pride shining in his horribly damaged irises smacked painfully across her heart.

"Mareike," He whispered shakily, saluting her from on one knee. "_mein kleines Rebellen_…" He took a short breath with her, seeming to jerk when the breath came shallow and short. "so brave."

Berlin returned the salute, feeling the quivering of her lip starting to break her façade, and blinked back a wall of tears. She bit at the traitorous lip as it shook, distracting herself from the ache in her chest, and cursed herself when she realized she still had to speak.

"_Au-Auf wiedersehen_, _Vater Preußen_…" When Berlin heard her own voice quaver, she knew Prussia could tell. His eyes changed as she watched and, in her own horror, she gasped brokenly at her weakness. She dropped the lie she had been holding before her and let her face crumple miserably with the return of her tears. "_Es tut mir leid, Vati!_"

"Oh, _schatz… liebste… nien._" Prussia cooed, licking his lips anxiously. His hands fluttered uselessly in the air, unsure of what to do, and suddenly it was too late.

"Time to go, love." Britain urged slowly, entering the room with his arms still open, and it broke Prussia's heart how quickly she responded to the Englishman. His little blond treasure spun on her heel, wiping at her teary face, and ran toward the man who'd called to her. Prussia watched desolately with his brother by his side as their little girl threw herself into Britain's waiting arms, letting him hoist her up onto his hip as he had done before, and hid her face within the shoulder of his jacket.

"MAREIKE?" Prussia called loudly, rising to his feet as if he would go after her. He saw Britain twitch, a brief shadow of rage passing through the green of his eyes, but he also saw those shadows fade when Berlin clung to the Englishman and spoke quietly in his ear. "MAREIKE?!"

"Enough, _Prussiya_." Russia's voice permeated the court room, making Berlin quake as Britain carried her past the smiling Russian nation and away. "Let us be going home, _da?__"_

**~Hetalia belongs to H.H.~**

**Da = (Russian) yes**

**Ja = (German) yes**

**Es ist mein... = (German) It is my...**

**Mein bruder = (German) my brother**

**Scheiße = (German) shit**

**Nien = (German) no**

**Mein shchatz = (German) my treasure**

**L'Amerique = (French) America**

**Vati = (German) Dad/Daddy**

**Icht Vader und Vati! = (German) It's Father and Daddy**

**Und = (German) and**

**Es tut mir leid, Vader Deutschland. = (German) I'm sorry, Father Germany**

**Ich liebe dich! = (German) I love you!**

**Russland = (German) Russia**

**Verstehst du = (German) understand**

**Auf wiedersehen, Vater Deutschland = (German) Goodbye, Father Germany**

**Mein kleines Rebellen = (German) my little rebel**

**Auf widersehen, Vater Preußen = (German) Goodbye, Father Prussia**

**Es tut mir leid, Vati = (German) I'm sorry, Daddy**

**Liebste = (German) sweetheart**

**Prussiya = (Russian) Prussia**


	9. Eine furchtbare Geschichte - Berlin

**Chapter Eight  
Eine furchtbare Geschichte (A Fearful History) - Berlin**

"Marie?" A hand brushed Berlin's face, but she couldn't look away from her lap and the faint red smears on her white clothes. "_Mon petit?_"

"Mm?" The little German city didn't look up at the Frenchman.

"_Ce n'est pas 'mm', cherie._" France told her quietly, patting her cheek good-naturedly. "_C'est 'oui'._"

"_Oui_," Berlin fisted her hands in the skirt, careful to avoid the red patches on the cloth. "I understand." The French rolled off her tongue reluctantly, a mumble thickly steeped in her queit German accent, and made France pause.

"_Cherie_," He murmured, kneeling before her, "do not worry. We will have lots of fun _en Paris_; my home is _tres beaux _and-" His smooth voice choked off when a tiny tear fell onto th back of one clenched little hand. "Marie?"

"What about _mein Vati_?" Berlin hissed, raising her teary accusing blue eyes to meet Francis'. "_Und mein Vader_?" They're not having fun now, are they?"

"Marie?" "They're hurt, _und _tired, _und _unhappy, _und _hungry- _und _I'm not! It's not **fair**!" Her little voice rose, the indignation and emotion morphing into righteous fury, and drew attention from the other passengers on the train. They could hear the German in her voice, even though the slips to and from French were discreet.

"Marie, hush," France quickly tried to coddle her in close. "People are staring. _Francais, s'il-vous plait_."

"_Nein!_" Berlin broke away from the Frenchman and slipped out of their booth in the open car. "_Ich hasse dich!_ I hate you!" And, with a blurry glare at the nation, she ran off down the aisle and into the next car. It wasn't hard to get away -no one stopped her- and she ducked into an empty compartment as she heard a following pair of footsteps.

Panting, she sat stock-still on the carpet floor, practically trembling with fear, and listened as the steps got closer and closer.

What had she done? She had offended her new guardian and now he had found her and she didn't know what he would do. In her short time with the towering Russian nation, she had been in so much pain she couldn't think. Would her new Papa hurt her too?

"_Cherie_?" A knock on another compartment made Berlin jump. "Are you there?"

'_No, no, no!_' Berlin panicked, searching for a place to hide. She couldn't get under the seats, or behind an obstacle -she was trapped, or so she thought. Suddenly, when she turned to pray to the sky, she saw a sturdy luggage hold above the door. She could make it, just barely, if she scaled the seats and pullled herslef up by her arms. The luggage rack could fall, break, and she could get hurt, but she reasoned that a fall was worth the risk of getting away.

"_Cherie_? It's me, _Papa_." France's voice was closer, next door, and Berlin acted on it. She scrambled to her feet, managing to get up onto the back of the seat, and leapt at the luggage rack. It bent slightly under her weight, making Berlin lose her breath, but held and she struggled to lift herself into the metal basket. It shook, groaning slightly as she curled herself up on it, and Berlin winced as she knocked her head against the ceiling.

Unfortunately, the blow made her yelp.

"Marie, _ma cherie_?" France must have heard her pained noise and his quick footsteps came to a halt below her, shrinking her lungs and knocking the wind out of her. He would find her, and hurt her or leave her, or he would tell the other nations and her family would suffer.

The door slid open below her without force, a gentle sound as the wheels rolled along the tracks, and Berlin could see the top of France's blond head as he walked inside. "_Cherie_... where are you?" He looked around, his face unreadable from her angle, and Berlin froze when the Frenchman carded his fingers through his hair. "Oh _Dieu_! Marie!" As he turned to leave, she saw a flash of anger in his eyes and, unable to help herself, choked off a moan and her eyes filled with tears. France, who had been right below her, looked up in shock and nearly cried out when one tear hit his cheek. Above him, Berlin whimpered and quivered as she cried, paralyzed with guilt and disquiet at what he might do to her for running and causing a scene.

"Oh, _cherie_," France cooed, reahcing up to pat her hair. "why are you crying?"

"_Ich will mein Vati_!" Berlin waield suddenly, clutching at the Iron Cross hanging around her neck. "_Vati_! _Vati, hilfe_! _Es tut mir leid, Vati_!"

France jerked in alarm, catching a few more tears with his jacket as they fell, and watched the little girl-city come undone in the luggage rack. She was shaking like a leaf, sobbing and jabbering German nonsense through her tears, and France made out mere fragments of her desolate moaning.

France didn't know what to say; she was right. America was taking care of Germany right now, with Britain's help, and her beloved father was in the hands of her abuser. Neither German man was faring very well, although Prussia was obviously in worse condition, but Berlin was being coddled like a princess. She'd been redressed in beautiful French clothes -lace, ruffles, ribbons- and scrubbed shiny for the trial that had ended only hours previously with many tears. Now she was disheveled and puffy-faced, terrified of him suddenly for a reason France could only guess at.

"_Cherie_," France said softly, sitting on the carpet and looking up at her. "you're right. _Allemagne _is with _l'Amerique et Angleterre_, and _ton papa _is with _la Russie_. It's bad, right now- very bad."

Berlin gasped, glancing at him through her hands, and she whimpered low in her throat. He dropped his shoulders, letting his fine hands rest in his lap, and met her eyes mournfully.

"I know." She admitted, sniffling,

"And I think that _la Russie _will not be kind to _Prusse_." France said softly, "_Oui_?"

"_Oui_." Berlin mumbled, "That man is _ein monstrum_." She shivered, touching a smear on her smock, and closed her eyes tightly. "A monster."

"Marie," France murmured, "would you please come down?" She met his eyes -blue puddles clashed with cerulean seas- and glanced away, worrying her tender bottom lip with her teeth, but nodded and shimmied her legs off the basket. She dangled from the wire basket for a few seconds, the frame bending under her weight, and France's heart stuttered when she dropped to the floor. He knew this little girl was no normal girl; she was the new capital of Germany, once the capital of Prussia, and she had been a major city during the war. She had housed tanks, auxilary troops, and even now she was thriving in the harsh post-war conditions. He shouldn't have cared fro her -not even the slightest- but the way the light caught her hair and the fire in her blue eyes made France proud; she was like his own little daughter, all wrapped in French lace and ribbon.

As she rose to her feet, she peeked at him through her hair anxiously: "Are you mad at me, papa?" She asked quietly, fisting her hands in her skirt.

"Never,_ ma cherie_." France replied, and a sudden small smile bloomed on her mouth. He opened his arms again, no longer met with a wince, and pulled the slight little girl-city close to his heart. His heart fluttered tenderly as she returned the gesture and, casually picking her up, they returned to their seats, smiling.

That was the beginning of Berlin's tremulous future; divided in four, worse than any child of a divorce could ever be, with six men speaking for her body and soul. She had four new parents -she liked to think of them as such because it made the years easier to bear- with four different homes and rules.

Her British father, Mr. Kirkland or Mr. Arthur, was strict and firm with the rules he enforced upon her and always made certain that Berlin knew what she had done wrong. However, their interactions were hardly spoken, and Berlin spent many days silent with books and records or nature to occupy her. When they did speak, they spoke of technical fact and he taught her what he thought Berlin must know as a capital city and a growing young girl. Unlike him, Berlin's _papa_ in France was affectionate and kind; they spent hours together, speaking and singing and just passing knowledge between them. He was a well of knowledge, both frivolous and useful, and Berlin loved the time she spent with this endless supply of nurturing and care almost as much as the time she spent with her "big brothers".

The big brothers she'd gained, Canadian and American, were shining examples to the young girl starved of hope and her home. She spent, as much as she wanted to, no time with her fathers and she took who she could get to fill the holes in her little German heart. Her Canadian brother, Matthew -Matthieu, Birdie, Mattie; he had many names- spoke to her in the German she missed, his voice soft but assuring, and America's brash courage was comfortingly similar to that of the father who'd been lost to the frigid snows of Russia. He treated her not as a city -or a pawn to be used, or a pet to fawn over- but as a girl growing up without her family to support her. He was her pillar -her power- and she leaned heavily upon him in the face of the Soviets, pale and shaking with fear.

The Soviet's relationship with young Berlin was much different. Stalin's grip of his half of the little girl-city was firm; he relaxed nothing as she aged and, blaming the damages of war, Berlin was enlisted to repay his country. Russia was no less overbearing. He had no love for the child and, with all the power he held in his home, he kept her confined and constricted what she could do.

However, even as her parents in the West watched her work tirelessly under the snowy Eastern nation, the Allies agreed that the tensions between them and their Russian ally were still great. How could they unify the country standing between them when they could not cross the borders themselves- the borders not set betweent heir feet, but between their hearts. None of the men truste Russia. Canada's faith, when he admitted to it, was as shaky and fragile as a newborn baby bird, and Prussia had yet to be heard from since the trial.

None of the Allies could bear to mention the word "reunification". It was a word laced with danger -a threat, a timebomb that was too volatile to use without risking death- and mentioning the idea in the presence of Russia was unthought of.

There was too much between the new halves -of Germany and of Berlin- for unification to bridge, and neither side would be the first to extend the timbers of peace to build those bridges.

It was only 1946 and it was already obvious that Berlin, and Germany, would remain divided.

**Mon petit = (French) my little one  
Ce n'est pas 'mm', cherie. C'est 'oui'. = (French) It's not 'mm', dear. It's 'yes'.  
...en Paris = (French) in Paris  
tres beaux = (French) very beautiful  
mein Vati = (French) my Daddy  
Und mein Vader = (French) And my Father  
Francais, s'il-vous plait = (French)  
nein = (German)  
Dieu = (French) God  
Ich will mein Vati = (German) I want my Daddy  
Vati! Vati, hilfe! Es tut mir leid, Vati! = (German) Daddy! Daddy, help! I'm sorry Daddy!  
Allemagne = (French) Germany  
l'Amerique = (French) America  
Angleterre = (French) England  
ton papa = (French) your father  
la Russie = (French) Russia  
Prusse = (French) Prussia**


End file.
